


Love and Care

by Beed



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bonding, DID I MENTION INCEST?, Dialogue Heavy, Don't say I didn't warn you, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Time Skips, lowkey secondary romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 02:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beed/pseuds/Beed
Summary: Set during Season 6. Hank and Dean have an ass-backwards heart to heart late at night in the VenTech Tower, as they are wont to do. Dialogue heavy, but also heavy pettin'.





	Love and Care

“Hey,” Hank welcomed himself in, bee-lining for Dean’s narrow bed. He rested right on the edge, across from Dean’s waist, and Dean didn’t bother to sit up, or even protest. He did crack an eye open though, and looked at his brother’s silhouetted figure in the dark.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“‘Kay,” Dean said. Hank wasn’t giving him much to work with.

After a long silence, he gave in and closed his eyes, inching a bit to get comfortable again, trying to ignore the lumpy presence looming above him.

“I dunno. I don’t like my bed, or something. You know how there’s that story about the, uh, lady and the jack under her twenty mattresses? That’s my situation. I don’t like my mattress.” Hank spoke. It sounded to Dean like he was right in his ear.  
“But it’s the fifth one I bought since we moved out here, so I dunno, maybe it’s the whole bed thing-- like, the frame, and that squiggly metal-thing that’s in the middle of the frame. Is that part of the frame?”

“It’s _the princess and the pea_. Not a jack.” Scowling, Dean opened his eyes again, and at that sliver of attention, Hank brightened. Dean felt his frown slip away immediately. Even his voice softened up. “But you’re right about the twenty mattresses.”

“Cool.”

“So do you ever sleep in your bed? Or do you just sleep on the couch out in the main room?”

Hank sniffed, then shrugged, still looking down at the carpet.  
  
“Brock’s room?”

Hank scoffed at that one. “Can’t remember the last time I did _that_.”

Dean kept back the remark that _he_ could remember: just two days ago. Hank went into Brock’s bedroom and didn’t come out until morning, which meant Brock allowed it, or maybe made Hank sleep at the trunk near the end of the bed, or something. But Hank probably didn’t want to hear any of that. He acted like a big deal... Like a grown man, now.

The silence continued on, the darkness losing its fearsome hold over the bedroom now that Dean had kept his eyes open for so long. He knew it, he could live without the nightlight. Briefly, he wondered if Hank had unplugged his own. He rarely went into Hank’s room. Even _Hank_ rarely went into Hank’s room. Then again, things were so crazy now, in a different way than usual, what with college, and… And Hank’s weird little delivery job. They had really gotten their shit together, or at least were on the mend-- surely anything was better than the learning beds.

Hank eventually shifted, bringing Dean out of his free-flowing thoughts. Swinging his legs up and into the bed, he bumped along Dean’s side several times in his nesting, wordless in his concentration.

“Would you-- just, be _thoughtful_ about where you move,” Dean whined, but didn’t make an attempt to actually stop his brother. In fact, he inched back to allow more room to fit. It was a useless gesture, but he hoped it was considered thoughtful, to Hank.

“It’s a twin bed, doofus, there’s nowhere else for me to go,” Hank replied in that bite-less way he always did.  
“If you think about it, this was a long time coming. ‘Cause we’re twins. Twins in a twin bed...”

“Well, actually, I think it’s a full. Plus, nobody thinks we’re twins until we say our ages are the same.”

“Well, actually,” Hank mocked back in a mumble.  
Eventually his rustling and bumbling movements came to a still as he lay beside Dean. And that would be a generous descriptor; Hank was more or less stuck laying on top of a bit of Dean- the parts that were already blooming with ache from his brother’s monkeying movements of getting comfortable.

Silence pervaded the room again, and Dean found it more unbearable than the last time, now that he was wide awake.

“You’re heavier than I remember…”

“And you’re bonier. Y’know, Deano, I haven’t seen you eat in a long time. Are you eating? Uncle Vatred says you need more meat on your bones.”

“Huh? He’s probably trying to-- trying to make a pass at me, or something.” Dean sighed. Why couldn’t Hank ever just stay on topic? And why was he allowing this?  
He watched his brother’s chest begin to rise and fall just a bit slower. Somehow, the room _felt_ different than before Hank had come in. Now he wanted to be awake. Sleepovers with each other weren’t all that common, growing up, and now Dean could sort of see the appeal.  
“I-I-I don’t know. Um… I eat. All the time. He once said I maybe had anorexia. But I don’t. And I hope you believe me over him.”

“Hmm,” Hank sounded with over-the-top suspicion in his tone.  
He didn’t really care. Dean was ninety-nine percent positive his brother never cared about anything. He just did things on autopilot, like a little man controlled his body, with levels and knobs and cranks, all labeled ‘asshole maneuvers’, and the little man thought differently than the rest of his Hank-body, causing massive problems for everyone, especially Dean.

“Dude, what the fuck? ‘ _Hank-body_ ’?”

Dean startled, jostling Hank above his side. “W-what?”

“You just said _all_ of that out loud.”

“Even ‘asshole maneuvers’?”

Hank turned to face his brother and nodded.  
Dean shirked on himself, going a little pink in his cheeks. Still, Hank didn’t seem too upset about it. At least, from what Dean could tell.

Aching pain shot up along his inner-elbow as Hank folded his arm nearest their connection to thumb his chest proudly.

“I can assure you, that if I had a little man controlling my body, he would be like, super-powered and a good guy... ‘Cause I’m one-of-a-kind. I don’t think I’d allow any little man to be granted the privilege to work with this Grade A specimen.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Dean said. Hank continued on before his brother could finish.

“He wouldn’t _only_ do asshole maneuvers, okay? Jot that down, Deano. I may look like the cool cat with suave and finesse, like, uh, Steve McQueer-- uh, McQueen, but I care a lot.”

Dean eyed his brother with doubt. He would’ve folded his arms if there was room.

“Don’t you try to glare-and-cross-your-arms at me! I mean it! I care! Especially about you!”

“Uh-huh. And who was there when I got nano bots up my… My _derriere_?”

“Me.”

“No you weren’t!”

“Okay, maybe not, but if I weren’t busy I would’ve been!”

Dean had to scoff at that. He favored rolling his eyes instead of looking at his brother’s sad little pouty frown.  
“You’re such a-- a shitty liar. Just say you don’t care about me, o-or this family, and… And go to bed. Close your eyes and go to bed right now, mister!”

“I can’t ‘cause you’re whining about how I don’t care!”

“Well if you can’t prove me wrong then I won’t stop!”

“Dean,” Hank groaned. He shifted in his spot atop Dean to face him further, and ignored his brother’s cry of pain when his elbow met a squishy belly-part under the blankets. “What are you going on about-- ‘you don’t care’ this, ‘you're an asshole’ that... You’re just making all this up because you’re getting shit on in other parts of your life, and now you’re taking it out on me!”

“Get off my side!” Dean bit out, squirming to life, hands shoving out of the blankets to grapple Hank’s shoulders.

A scuffle ensued; loud thumps, hollers and whaps filled the bedroom. It didn’t last long, what with Hank having the upper-hand and more strength, easily. Scrawny Venture saw no need to put up much of a fight when Hank got too into it.

Dean fully gave in as his brother managed to tangle them both up in the sheets, sitting fully on top of him. He let out a harsh breath-- surely the last of it with Hank’s heaviness above him-- to blow his hair out of his face.

“Ha, that was great. Classic Dean move-- just give up like a pansy.”

Hank came in for a hug soon after goading, and Dean felt himself tear up; little bit pained, little bit sappy. Then Hank pulled back, and gave Dean the strangest looking wistful face ever.

“I love you a lot, Dean,” Hank admitted. Dean felt his own face begin to mirror Hank’s, now feeling full-on sappy. “And care. A lot. You’re my brother... And you’re the only one that gets me.”

“Hank…” Dean finally returned the love, arms going tight around Hank’s shoulders, this time with happiness, rather than frustration. It felt a lot better this way, and Dean couldn’t help but nuzzle in against Hank’s neck.  
His brother reciprocated, soft hair brushing along his own, and Dean swore his heart burst into a million little pieces of bonafide affection. All of it poured out as Hank seemed to listen intently, stuck along Dean’s neck. “Aww-- I, I-- damnit, I feel the same way! Like, I was really depressed last year, figuring out about all… The problems- the, the everything- dad put us through-- but, but you made it all better.”  
At the revelation, Dean gasped, and _that_ felt like his last breath, but he forged on. “Oh, so that’s how you were there for me! Wow. That... Meant a lot to me! And it does now, too. Thanks, Hank.”

“No prob.” Hank pulled his head up from their cuddling to query. “So… Depression isn’t like another form of anorexia, right?”  
Dean shook his head; right now, stupid questions were okay, he supposed. His smile was stuck on his face and just for the fun of it, Dean squished his brother again in their hug-hold. It felt so good to have something right- something he could remember since the dawn of his time- there to comfort him.  
Hank squished back with a huge grin, and then, maneuvered his face toward Dean’s own to kiss him.

 

* * *

 

“So you still got that weird hot-dog-lookin’ dork situation going on,” Hank breathed. His hand gripped, on-and-off, as if he were feeling out what Dean’s cockhead might look like underneath his tight foreskin. Dean whimpered, a little frustration and a lot of pleasure, and Hank corrected himself.  
“Hey hey hey, it’s okay! We can both just-- oh-- we can look at mine to set the mood, and, ah…”

“Shut up,” Dean whispered, face burning hot. He tried to ignore that, especially how _hot_ Hank sounded, how different it was than anything he’d ever heard from his brother. He thought he was supposed to know everything about Hank! Things truly had changed. He tried not to feel that now commonplace soul-cutting disappointment at a time like this, not with the only thing steady and sweet in his life practically in his hands.  
His hand gently tugging along Hank’s cock- pressed against his own- came to a still.  
“It’s.. It’s a little dry. Spit.”

A glob of saliva spattered along Dean’s cheek and he squirmed back with a yelp, away from their sword fight. “ _Eugh_ \-- Hank! Spit down _there_! I meant down!”

“Sorry,” Hank said kindly. He tried again, but there wasn’t much that actually made it onto their cocks, and not enough to get some sort of rutting momentum without hands involved.  
The situation was pretty undesirable, all of a sudden, but maybe Dean was just being fickle. His penis certainly wasn’t, but… It had a tendency to act like that. For once he wanted something special, not another jerking session.

Hank stopped his groping which sucked even further, but then he tentatively reached his neck forward, hands coming up to Dean’s arms to embrace him, and…

“Mmh…” He couldn’t say ‘wow’ with his mouth occupied. At some point he had shut his eyes in bliss. Dean stopped all of his work along Hank’s dick to reciprocate the soft, slow kisses he was given.  
They were sloppy and intentful and Dean was worried he was just going to spend the rest of his life kissing his own stupid brother instead of getting out there and experimenting with other people.

“Mm--no,” Hank parted them at the loss of Dean’s hands. Dean opened his eyes to see his brother, looking pleased as punch, and almost rakish, like a ruffian who got what he wanted. Their chests were heaving like mad from the enthusiasm of it all, and after a quick breath, Hank spoke up again.

“I’ve been given a lot of kisses in my time, and I’m trying to put my experience to good use. So you gotta do what you do best, and keep touching us down there.”

“Oh. That’s… That’s actually pretty fair.” Dean had to exhale, feeling light-headed at being the brother with more jerking-off experience, while Hank was able to kiss a million and one people. But hell, he was amazing at it. He really upped his game since the last time they tried this. “O-okay.”

“Good,” Hank purred, and came back at Dean like a cobra.

Dean’s hands flailed to get back to his duty under Hank’s heavenly ministrations, and he couldn’t stop himself from moaning in a very unmanly fashion when Hank pulled apart from his lips again to swipe with his tongue along his cheek, right where he spit. His brother bucked his hips at Dean’s reaction, and nibbled at his skin. It kinda tickled, it kinda hurt. Dean realized then and there that he may like that sorta thing.

For a long while the only noises in Dean’s bedroom was that nasty lewd smacking of slippery-wet cocks rutting against one another and heavy breathing. Pathetic moans and whimpers punctured the monotony here and there, but the boys were fully vested in their advanced experimenting.

“Golly geezus-- by God,” Hank parted again just to let out steam. His face felt warm, from what Dean could feel. He felt that way too, and so he sighed, soft and satisfied.  
Hank whined some more in turn, hands in a vice-grip on Dean’s arms as he thrusted forcefully into his brother’s kung-fu grip hold along their dicks.  
“Yeah, uh-- f-fuck. Y-you can do that whenever you want, Dean, ‘cause that feels _amazing_!”

“I-I know,” Dean panted out, using the tip of his index finger to swirl along Hank’s cockhead with every thrust inward. It was all sticky and wet from precum and the rest of their thrusting an easy glide. He’d never felt this desperate before in his life, touching Hank against himself.  
He was pretty sure he sounded the way he felt... Extremely needy. “Please, don’t, don’t stop. You really are good at it...”

“What, at kissing?” Hank interrupted, still finding time to grin in triumph. It was weak, though-- weak with how much Dean was wearing him down into a puddle of mush. “Dude, I know, right? How awesome is that? No, ah, w-wait-- how awesome am _I_?!”

Dean just nodded again, but his open-mouthed smirk in turn spoke of true sluttery- like he was trying to compete with Hank’s kissing abilities. He kept his eyes locked on Hank’s as he pumped at their shafts with no mercy.  
Hank’s eyes crossed in pleasure as he stuttered along in that hold, trying to fuck into it.

“Ah... Shit-- okay, pucker up, 'cause I’m comin’ back in for more!”

 

* * *

 

“Good afternoon, boys,” Rusty greeted as the twins shuffled into the eating area. Hank tried to get in a word of greeting but he was cut off at the move of his mouth. “Yes, that’s right, I said _afternoon_ : as in, you both slept in. What were you two doing up all night?”

Dean looked at Hank, and Hank turned to look at him. Panic shone in his eyes, so Dean stepped up, trying his best to seem casual.

“W-well, Hank couldn’t sl--”

“Dean was trying to h--”

Dean turned to glare back at Hank, and Hank gestured emphatically, though the meaning was lost on Dean, beside it maybe meaning ‘get a load of this guy!’ which just made no sense.  
Rusty cut them off again.

“Well, whatever. I mean, it’s fine, right? Smooth sailing on your pop’s dime, I’m sure that’s what you both think nowadays. It’s not like you two just slept in for the, I dunno, entirety of the _Charity Morning Ball Brunch Bonanza for The Homeless_ or anything-- right, Brock?”

“Yeah,” Brock supplied. After scanning the newspaper, he looked up and gazed right through Dean’s soul-- Dean had to bring a thoroughly-used hand up to rub at his sore Hank-squished arm, averting his eyes, feeling guilty.

“What? So?” Hank argued back to Rusty. “You tell us to stay out of those things. You said, and I quote, I ruin everything- unquote, implied quote, ruin it with my good looks and charm. Uh, un-implied quote.”

“No, Hank, you ruin it with all the cash you stole from Daddy’s special savings that I thought were properly hidden. And besides, that’s just you ruining everything. Dean, you should’ve been there. You said you would.”

“What?” Dean yanked his head back up to glare at his father. Hank kept him from fussing by interrupting.

“I thought that was the point of charity! You give people money!”

“By grabbing a stack of benjamins and throwing them out on the reception floor? No, not like that, boy! And not _my_ money, for God's sake!”

While Hank and Rusty volleyed stupid reasons between each other with increasing volume and disdain, Brock pointed at the floor right beside where he sat, newspaper still firmly upheld with his other hand.  
Dean stepped over, feeling strangely vulnerable. His eyes kept on the floor below him, and a little of Brock’s hand, just in case he decided to gesture a command again.  
As soon as Dean stepped up in his proper spot, Brock spoke.

“So, uh... You guys gotta _not_ do… That.”

Dean’s face turned red in no time flat. His eyes darted to Brock’s big blue ones, but no words were coming out. He simply gaped and smacked his mouth like a fish.  
Brock quickly brought up his free hand in surrender, waving it a bit.

“Calm down, Dean. Your dad knows, too.”

“That doesn’t calm me down at all!” Dean yelped. He was getting sweaty and panicked.  
Brock put a stop to it with a firm grip on his shoulder-- all the years of Brock’s guidance were habitually soothing in the sensations. The lip-wobbling couldn’t be stopped even if Dean wanted it to, though.

“Look, just-- ugh. Okay. Let’s be rational-- let’s use our common sense, here, Dean. We live in a high-tech building now, and compared to the old compound, this shit all set-up through the place works.”  
Brock paused, weighty hand still stuck to Dean. “Most of the time. Anyway, that’s-- that’s not the point. The thing is, we know you two have done… That… Before. But now, it’s just a lot easier to tell, and it’s…”

“It’s wrong? Like, if you can see and hear it, God can too, a-and he’s going to kill us, so you need us to stop before you have to fight God s-since you’re our bodyguard and sworn to protect us?”

“Well…” Brock frowned, jutting out his lip for a moment in pure consideration. Then he shrugged. “Yeah. But mostly… It’s, uh… Kinda fuckin’ gross. And we don’t wanna hear it.”

Dean wiped at his brow, face still tomato-red. “O-oh.”

“Yup.” Brock finally let go of Dean’s shoulder, and scratched at the back of his head. “So, you promise you won’t, uh... Anymore?”

Dean hazarded another glance back up at Brock’s eyes, before darting them back down. He ground his heel at the floor demurely.  
“I-I-I dunno. I… He’s my brother, and I love him a lot, and--”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Dean, that’s just not normal,” Brock grit out. “Just say you won’t do it again, and don’t-- and never tell me what you think about Hank ever again. For the love of God, just do all that I asked. Knock. It. Off.”

“Fine,” Dean said, quickly crossing his arms. He heard Brock sigh in relief rather than see his face again, and out of the booth he slid and walked off.

The room was oddly silent now that their altercation had finished, and it wasn’t until Hank came up from behind and brought his hands around Dean’s shoulders that he realized Rusty wasn’t in the room either.

“What’d Brock say? Did he give advice on how to judo your way through class today? Bet that'd end it early instead of faking sick.”

“No,” Dean snapped. He turned and tried to slap away Hank’s hands, but instead he just rested them on top. His lip was wobbling again, and Hank grinned.

“Aww, did he say you look like a straight-up wuss in that jacket? ‘Cause I’ve been wanting to say that for a long time...”

 

* * *

 

“He said somethin’ about God punishing them for it, so maybe they won’t anymore,” Brock said.

“Oh I don’t know, the God angle doesn’t work like it used to for them,” Rusty dismissed with a wave of his hand. Brock grunted just as he sighed, and he looked up to his bodyguard. “Can you fuckin’ believe this? My only sons, and they’re both-- going _Flowers in the Attic_ for no good reason! We’ve moved to New York! This is the opposite of being stuck together!”

“Yeah, well, maybe they--” Brock stopped himself, with a heavy sigh and a wipe of his face. His scowl was murderous as he watched Rusty fling himself onto the couch. “I don’t even wanna talk about it. I’m just-- no. I’m _done_.”

“Yeah, me too,” Rusty said, defeated. He patted at the spot on the couch right next to himself, and Brock complied, bouncing the small super scientist in his spot upon heavy landing.  
“I’m sure whatever good genes- and good sense- they originally had was written away in the DNA goo."

“That’s _your_ bad. Like, undeniably, completely your own fault--”

“Oh, I know! I know.” Rusty readjusted his glasses and laid a hand right in the middle of Brock’s back soothingly as he spoke. “I was hoping, once upon a time, I could flush out some of that kinda-flamboyant gayness that I’ve been cursed with. But I think the cloning just made it worse.”

“Sometimes they do act really gay,” Brock chimed in as Rusty rubbed all along his back.

“If they’re anything like their old man, they’re just going to do this madness somewhere else in the building, where uninterested ears can’t get a hold of them.”

“Gross.” Brock snorted, then paused. “Wait… Does that… Jesus, is that-- _teenage you_ is the reason why the stockroom at the compound stunk like crispy, dried, dead fish?”

Rusty chuckled and nodded his head as Brock groaned, both of his hands coming up to rub at his temples.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be willing to take on writing or drawing trades for VB pairing stuff! Just leave a comment if you're interested (and of course be forewarned that I'm looking for Hank/Dean goodness lol).


End file.
